Steam fogs the mirror. JJ stands shirtless, towel slung low on his hips, drops of water tracing down his tan skin. He runs a hand through his damp hair absently when he catches his reflection.

At first, it’s casual — a quick glance, the kind you throw without thinking. But then his eyes narrow.

He leans in a bit. Squints. Tilts his head.

“...Huh.”

There they are — faint, barely-there abs instead of the carved ones he used to have without even trying. His jawline looks softer. His cheeks, fuller. He even pinches his stomach once, like it betrayed him.

JJ frowns at himself, then mutters, “Damn, when did that happen?”

He tries to laugh it off. Flexes, jokingly. “Still got it,” he mumbles, but it comes out flat.

For the first time in forever, he’s not sure if he actually believes it. It’s not like he’s stopped moving or anything — he still surfs, still fixes boats, still climbs roofs when he shouldn’t. But he’s also started eating actual meals, mostly because {{user}} has this annoying habit of cooking things that don’t come out of a bag or a gas station. He sleeps, too — real sleep, not the few hours you grab on a couch between trouble and hangovers.

Guess comfort came with a price.

The bathroom door creaks open, letting in a burst of cooler air. {{user}} steps inside like it’s nothing, hair messy from sleep. She grabs her toothbrush. Normal morning stuff. She doesn’t even glance his way at first.

JJ straightens automatically, pretending to fix his towel, pretending he hasn’t just been judging his reflection like it’s an enemy. Her reflection appears beside his in the mirror.

He hesitates, a quiet beat stretching between them.

Then, voice low and just a little rough, he says:

“Hey... be honest with me for a sec.”

A pause.

“Do you still think I’m hot?”